Instability
by fan-nerd
Summary: The cruelty of the world created a bitter, arrogant, lonely boy. It took years of kindness to heal his heart. Flonne/Laharl/Etna.
1. a falsis principiis proficisci

_A/N:_ Written in 2 parts. Part I is all pre-game. Part II is in-game and post-game. No spoilers for games outside of _Hour of Darkness_ in this chapter/part.

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_**Instability**_

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i: a falsis principiis proficisci

_to set forth from false principles_

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_a priori_

Right before her child was born, her husband told her many things about the mental growth of demon children. There was so much to take in that she became bewildered, but she nodded and smiled anyways. He beamed and ranted excitedly. "A son," the man yelled through the halls of the castle when he finished giving her information for the moment. "A son!"

/

_three_

He hadn't gotten an inch bigger since the day he was born. Even though she was forewarned about this development, it was still a little frightening. According to her husband, his physical body was only about 10 days old by human standards. Still, her baby boy was too small. Krichevskoy said that the boy's wings were stunted, but demons found more ways than appendages to fly, so it was fine. His height, however, would be a constant point of amusement in the Netherworld for the next few centuries.

The strangest thing about her child (to her) was that despite the fact that he was still in diapers, he had learned to turn his babbles into words about a year ago, much like human two-year olds would have. Her baby could speak now, even if the words were garbled and amateurish. The Overlord insisted that he begin to learn manners and speech. Since he took that task on personally, she decided to speak to her baby, as she had often in the past three years, about love. Krichevskoy supported this decision. He said that in the world of demons, his subjects focused on money, ambition, deception, and the like. The man worked very hard at organizing the unruly bunch, trying to earn respect through his methods and not with his fists, unless the situation was absolutely dire. They both wanted their child to grow in a home filled with love, so that the boy could go out in the world as a kind-hearted demon.

The boy himself listened to hushed conversations between his parents in the middle of the night. He didn't understand everything; either because of his limited vocabulary, or because he couldn't hear them, but the sound of their voices often lulled him to sleep.

_/_

_twenty_

The boy's hair was still the same shocking blue when he was twenty years old (or, in human physiology, two-and-a-half-months). He was a very smart boy, but beyond that, he had a smart mouth. It was a huge contrast to the fact that he could hardly support his own weight on his wobbly, fat legs. His mother was very impressed with him anyways, hugging him close to her chest every time he did something worthy of praise. It turned out that being showered in affection made him gain an attitude. He blushed, stammered, and pounded his chubby little fists against his mother without much anger or force. Most of the time, his father was busy with work, so he was out and about in the Netherworld, spreading his influence. The boy sometimes quietly admitted that he didn't like that, and his mother saw her cute little boy's eyes fill with sadness. It hurt her heart, and she wanted to shield him from the world. Instead, she murmured that Krichevskoy was out trying to make the world a better place for his child. A rift began to grow between father and son that would only get wider with time. Despite her husband's best efforts, their child misunderstood him often. Loving his wife came naturally, but she was not a child, and she didn't need to see him often to know that he loved her.

The boy sneezed once before curling his little fists in her blouse, and she wiped his nose before assuring him that Daddy only left _because_ the man loved him so much. The boy wasn't sure that he believed her.

/

_twenty-five_

Their child was ill. His mother knew that he had been prone to disease for years, and she felt guilty. She felt like the only reason his demon blood wasn't protecting him from illness was because of his human DNA. This fact alone nearly broke her heart, but she refused to despair. She talked to her husband often about the illness, and he assured her that he would find a cure, if he had to scour the Netherworld fifty times over to discover it. Both of them were panicked, especially because their kind, proud little boy sniffled, turned up his little button nose, and assured them that it was just a cold. They both knew him well enough to see the weakness in his small limbs, and the weariness in his wet eyes. Krichevskoy bundled his blue-haired boy in his arms and prayed to whoever might've been listening. The boy squirmed in his hold and murmured that demons weren't supposed to pray. His father didn't care.

His mother decided to sew a scarf for the boy, and while he was sleeping, she put it around his neck like a good luck charm. For good measure, she created it with magical thread, and cast several spells on it, wishing him the best of health.

/

_twenty-six_

The married couple was stressed beyond belief. Within the last year, they'd tried _everything_. They used natural remedies. They called shamans, monks, and mages. None of their magic and spells had any sort of influence. Research throughout the world told them that it was hopeless – only the bloodletting of a person who loved him could save him. Krichevskoy refused to acknowledge this as anything other than the very last resort. The boy's mother, deep in her heart, knew that this was going to be the path to save her son. She prepared for it mentally, trying to see the positive side of things within her fear. She and her husband spoke to Laharl in careful tones, but he knew as well as they did that he was dying. Somehow, the boy himself didn't seem very frightened. He smiled for the two of them, and it was all she needed to go through with her plans. She waited for Krichevskoy to go scouring the lands again so she could get ready. She sent her husband off with a kiss, and then made a mental checklist of things she needed to do.

The first matter of business was to speak to her son. She told him about love and happy memories. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that most women her age were watching their children become adults, and get married. If her boy were human, maybe he would be graduating from college. He would be as tall as his father. _Daydreams are for cowards_, she thought to herself with a small laugh.

"Laharl," She whispered gently. Her boy was breathing shallowly, and his blood red eyes were crusted, but he managed a shaky smile, for her. "You know how much I love you, right?"

"You only tell me every day," Laharl looked exhausted, even though all he was doing was speaking. His mother grabbed his tiny hand; he was disturbingly cold, and his fingers were shaking. She began to cry. "Stop that…" He pleaded. He was too weak to reach up with his fingers and wipe her tears, so he curled his scarf up to her face.

"I love you more than anything in the world." She whispered gently, breathing quietly on his cold fingers and letting the scarf catch her tears. It was something she said every night, so he didn't realize that this was her way of saying goodbye. She kissed him softly on the forehead and told him to rest, tucking the scarf back around his neck.

After leaving his chambers, where the boy slept in a skull-decorated crib, she went to the main hall and spoke to the woman in charge of the castle's hospital. "Will this really work?" His mother asked with determination in her eyes.

"Yes," The blonde healer nodded sadly. Many demons in the Netherworld, and the castle especially, thought the Queen was a strange person, but they liked her nonetheless. They would be sad to see her go. The healer demon gave the human woman what she had requested, and bid her farewell.

With this reassurance, the Queen turned back towards her child's chambers. She peeked at his face, and then hurried to her room to scribble the formulas and circles necessary to complete this ritual. The Queen had a sample of Laharl's blood from the nurse, and her life would be forfeit after she drained herself upon the magic circle, thus activating it. She boldly took the knife not only to the veins in her arms, but also to her neck, and choked in pain. As her consciousness faded, through a haze of adrenaline, blood, and panic, she remembered that Laharl's birthday was in a few weeks, and she had forgotten to tell him happy birthday. A sob turned into gurgles through blood. Her eyes, full of tears, stilled as she began to fade.

Her husband, that same evening, was the first to find her, and sobbed for hours. When he got a hold of himself, he rushed to clean her room and dispose of her mutilated body before their son could stumble upon the gruesome scene when he woke up.

The boy rose _early_, several days later, and found his father sitting at his desk in his room. The bags under his father's eyes were dark, and although the boy knew something was amiss, he was not quite sure _why_ yet. "I feel excellent for the first time in years. Where is Mother?" His father looked startled to see his son looking up at him, those big red eyes full of innocent curiosity. Krichevskoy's heart immediately sank, and he tensed up involuntarily.

His voice was raspy. "Laharl…if I tell you something, can you promise me to listen very carefully, and maturely?"

"Of course," The boy's voice was sure and his gaze was steady, even though he was only an infant in body.

Krichevskoy told his son, in no uncertain terms, that his mother was dead. He assured the boy that his mother loved him very much, and that she would not have died if there were any other choice – it was the only way to save _his_ life. He had to hold back his tears while he looked at the boy – he looked so much like her.

"Stop messing with me," Laharl's voice was small, and he bundled his small fists next to his side, scarf swishing at his back restlessly. "I thought _you_ had found the cure. You gave your _word_ that it wouldn't come to that!"

"I know, Laharl," His father whispered, his voice full of guilt and remorse. Tears were spilling down his face. "I'm so sorry."

"You think an apology is going to make everything alright?" The boy lashed out with a sudden anger. He'd never yelled so loudly before in his short life. "What the hell's the matter with you?!"

Krichevskoy wanted to say a lot of things in response, but his throat was blocked, and all he could manage was a weary response. "I can do nothing _except_ apologize, my son."

"Don't bother," Laharl huffed, the scowl on his lips deeply ingrained. "I don't want your excuses." Upon seeing his son refuse to shed a tear of grief, Krichevskoy decided he would work twice as hard to make up for the loss of his wife. His first order of business was making sure that his son would not take the blame for his wife's death. His second was to raise Laharl into the fine, kind boy his mother would have wanted him to be.

/

_two hundred and eight_

Krichevskoy had never really had much control over his boy; his wife had been the only person in the castle that his child listened to with nothing more than a grumble. Since his wife's life-saving sacrifice, Laharl had become cold-hearted and downright cruel. His father's lips curled.

_A real demon._

His boy required nearly constant supervision. Without a guard, or his father's watchful eyes, he was prone to wrathful fits for no good reason. Krichevskoy and the castle servants assumed it was his coping method to deal with the loss of his mother. Krichevskoy tried not to leave very often, so he could spend afternoons with Laharl, keep him calm, and teach him about the world, but sometimes skirmishes in the Netherworld called him away. These occurrences were few and far between, but Laharl managed to catch wind of them every time, and used these days to sneak out of castle. He would then beat up every demon that he thought was worthy of a challenge. Of course, he knew better than to let his father find out, so he spoke to the dimensional gatekeeper about keeping his excursions a secret. She was nervous, but complied anyways, blonde hair falling in her half-lidded eyes.

The prince always made sure to return before the king, and even played his dad's little games of 'father and son bonding' to throw him off of his scent, no matter how nauseated they made him. It was only a matter of time before he got caught, though.

The king had returned early after issuing a treaty between the two quarrelling parties, and was startled to find that no servant in the castle had any idea where the prince was. Eventually, he meandered to the common area where all the shops were. He'd pulled both the traditional gate's watchman and the dimensional gatekeeper from their posts to question them. Just when he was about to start inquiring about the prince, the blonde woman whispered, "I'm sorry, sir," and turned to open the gates, revealing the very boy the king was looking for.

He came face to face with his son, who looked terrible. His left eye was swollen and bruised, his chest was covered in open wounds, and the boy's first words upon his return were, "So, how much is it gonna cost me to get healed up?"

"Nothing," His father immediately said. "You're going to heal the hard way." Laharl didn't seem terribly surprised to see him there, and even remained silent during his annoying lecture. "Why are you doing all of this? I give you plenty of allowance, and violence isn't going to solve anything."

"I'm a _demon_," said the boy, deep red eyes filled with dark thoughts. "I don't understand why you're so bent on trying to get me to go against my nature! I'm angry, so I fight! I need money, so I steal it! No, what I don't understand is why _you're_ so damn _pleasant_ all the time!" The demons in the castle halted their breaths as Laharl's scarf swirled in his wake, and the boy disappeared into the shadows. Sure, they'd thought similar things once, but they respected their king now. Some of them wondered how the man was going to handle this situation with his young son.

Krichevskoy hadn't said anything in response because he couldn't think of anything to say.

The boy was right, after all.

Sure, the king had a head full of his own ideas of 'kindness' and 'respect' and 'loyalty', but he knew as well as Laharl did that problems were settled in the demon world with displays of wealth and power. That evening, after spending a long time thinking about such things, he went up to Laharl's room, ready to try to understand his son, before the boy slipped completely out of his influence.

When he knocked on Laharl's door, the boy didn't answer, so he spoke. "Laharl?" There was still no answer, so he opened the door gingerly. "Are you awake?"

"How can I sleep with all of your noise?" The boy grumbled, sharp eyes turning to his father. "What is it?"

His father remembered the promises he made to himself more than a century ago. He remembered that Laharl was just a boy – a boy with an abnormal heritage, a boy who did not have a mother, and a boy who didn't see eye-to-eye with his father. Underneath his machinations, he was still the quiet, intelligent, and caring boy his wife had lulled to sleep with stories of love and kindness. It was hard to see such things underneath the boy's legitimized anger. The boy was frustrated because he didn't understand why he and his father didn't agree on how to be a good demon. He was enraged because this world took his mother away before her time. He was infuriated because kindness and love had only made his life that much harder. Krichevskoy could not blame his son for his irritation.

"Laharl, why do you go out and fight those demons behind my back?" He wanted to understand, so that he could start to come to a compromise with his son.

"To get stronger, of course," Laharl's voice was haughty. "That's a stupid question."

His father laughed. "I suppose that's true." The admittance made the boy's eyes widen in shock. "Okay, I'll allow it, but try not to get carried away, alright?"

"I can do whatever I want. You can't stop me," Although his voice seemed confident, it sounded to his father like the boy desperately craved approval for his actions.

"Okay," Krichevskoy allowed. "So, what's the deal with the money?"

"I want to buy something!" Laharl snarled. "That's what you use money for, right? I could've stolen it, I suppose."

"But you didn't, because…?" His father was openly goading the boy, because he wanted to hear his 'reasons'. Easily rising to the provocation, his son puffed up and replied.

"I just wanted to spare the two noble demons from my wrath _this time_ to make them recognize my greatness!" It was an excuse; they both knew it. The arrogance was true enough, though. Krichevskoy found his son's overconfidence equal parts amusing and worrisome.

"That's good." Even if it was an excuse, his boy was using his mind before picking fights. Noble demons were a little out of his league for the time being. He knew Laharl snuck behind his back because he didn't want his father to find out about his journeys and chide him, so he didn't ask why the boy had done that. Instead, he sighed warmly and pulled his child into his lap, in spite of the protests. "You're a good boy, Laharl."

"Stop that, you'll give me hives," He hissed lowly, glaring at his father again. "What're you playing at, old man?"

"You know, I love you very much, son," His throat felt dry, but his son needed to hear these words from him. "I know you're angry at the world – rightfully so – but I want you to understand something. Your anger alone won't change anything. Sometimes, kindness will show you things that you never thought were possible. I don't expect you to understand everything right now." Laharl was uncharacteristically quiet, so his father knew that he was listening. "I just want you to know that. Your mother…she would be so happy to see you so full of energy." Just bringing the woman up made both of them tense up, but the older male finished with a smile. "Do you want to be the overlord, Laharl?"

After a brief pause, his boy murmured. "Not if I have to be a wimp like you."

"Not at all!" His father grinned, ruffling the boy's hair and making him howl in frustration. "The overlord is the _best_ demon in the Netherworld!" Laharl looked wary. "He's also the _strongest_ demon," Krichevskoy said, sounding awfully proud of this admittance.

At that, his son's ears perked up, and his lips twitched. "Does that mean if I beat you, _I'm_ the strongest demon in the Netherworld?"

His father was taken aback. "Well, yes…I suppose. But why would you need to beat me? You're the heir to the throne."

Laharl leapt off of his father's lap and grinned widely – it was the brightest smile he'd sported in more than a hundred years. "This is _perfect_! I'll defeat you, and then I'll be the strongest overlord in _history_!"

Krichevskoy couldn't help giggling when the boy stormed off, laughing heartily. They had come to a stranger compromise than he had planned on, but for the time being, it was enough.

/

_four hundred and sixty-one_

Laharl was bossing creatures around in the castle, to no one's surprise. The demons living there had long become used to his ways. He was making a name for himself as a bruiser among the lesser demons in surrounding villages, and his father was starting to feel like the boy could handle himself well enough, so he left the castle more often. This allowance gave the child more control over things at his home, or it should have, but instead, the boy got good at swindling others into doing things he didn't want to do.

Just when he was telling members of the council to change some law about funding, a strangely colored prinny snuck into the hearing hall. "What is it?" He barked, and the prinny startled. It didn't say anything, but handed him a small token. It was a ring forged with dragon's fire and the blood of royalty – his blood. He'd requested it be made years ago, but demons were lazy. He hadn't been expecting it to be ready for decades yet, so it came as a surprise that this weird prinny was handing it to him already. "You've fulfilled your duty. Well done. You're dismissed."

"And my pay?" It spoke strangely, too. His eyebrows rose.

"What about it?" He placed one bony hand on his hip, where his shorts were hanging on for dear life. It looked disappointed for a while, and he dug in his pockets. "I don't have any money on me." He'd deposited a handful of worthless trinkets in its' flippers. "You can have some of this junk."

The strange prinny looked bewildered, and continued to stare at him while he closed proceedings, the bill passing with difficulty and a few deaths. He wondered in the back of his mind why that prinny kept looking at him, but decided it wasn't worth his time to interrogate it.

/

_five hundred and sixteen_

His father had returned with a girl around his age, and he was appalled when the man explained how he had found her and brought her to the castle, so that she wouldn't starve.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The boy snarled. "_Saving_ a demon – is there something the matter with your brain?"

"Now, now, Laharl, that's no way to speak to your new friend. I thought you said you didn't like your caretakers." Krichevskoy smiled warmly, reaching for his son and getting his hand burned by the boy's fire-covered scarf. "Ouch! You're getting better at controlling your magic. I saw you flying around by using that, too."

"Who cares about that – why'd you bring this girl _here_?!" Laharl growled, furrowing his brows.

"She's going to be your _personal_ assistant. Aren't you happy, son?" He smirked a bit, finding all of this horribly amusing. "Such a cute girl is going to help you with royal affairs, day in and day out."

"I don't care how she looks, so long as she's competent," Laharl said, being completely honest. "So, who is this pathetic-looking girl, anyways?"

"You're so rude!" She finally spoke, stepping out from his father's shadow. "My name is Etna! I can't believe _you're_ the king's son." In her mind, she thought the man had been far too kind in his descriptions of the brat.

"I bet she can't even fight," The boy snorted derisively, and was startled when a heavy fist hit him. "Ah ha," He smirked from the floor before pushing himself up and kicking her down in response. His father lifted him by his scarf after that, and glared at the boy.

"Stop assaulting our new helper." The king shook his head. "You're supposed to be nice to girls, Laharl."

"She punched me first!" He howled, burning his father again. "And she's supposed to work _for_ me, isn't she?! Why didn't you train her first!?"

"Want me to punch you again, prince?" She smiled, cracking her knuckles.

Krichevskoy looked between the two of them and sniffled. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well."

"We don't get along at all!" They yelled in unison before glaring at each other.

Krichevskoy pulled Etna aside later, after Laharl had gone out in town to blow off steam. "I'm sorry he's so difficult," The man said sadly. "He really is a kind boy…he'd never admit it, though. I do hope that you can stay by his side. Please be a good friend to Laharl." He bowed his head deeply to the little girl, and she blushed scarlet.

"You're weird, mister," She shifted her gaze from his eyes. "How is _that_ supposed to be kind? He's angry, and small, and…" Suddenly, she shut up, feeling like she understood that kid. "Kinda lonely looking."

"I know," The king said, eyes full of emotion. "I had hoped for years that he would find someone to be close to, but he's so afraid of getting close to others." He went on, and told her about the recently deceased queen. Etna said the woman had seemed eccentric, but nice enough. She was a little sad to hear she'd killed herself, even if it was to save that brat. "I hope you'll stay by his side, Etna."

"I'll…" She looked into his eyes, knowing that those tears were for the queen, and her heart panged, so she stammered eagerly. "I'll do my best, sir."

/

_eight hundred and forty-five_

Etna was looking for the prince, because he'd stolen her snacks. She'd tried his room, the main hall, and the king's office. The king was nowhere to be found either, but that was fine. Just when she was ready to send some prinnies to the nearest village to look for him, she spied a light from a dim hallway. It was a corridor where no one worked or lived, so it wasn't frequented often; still, something told her to check out the source of that light. Her instincts led her to a scene between the king and the prince, and she tried her best to make herself invisible so she could listen without getting caught spying on them.

"...and I already said that I don't see why that matters." The crass, brash tones of the prince met her pointed ears, and she immediately forgot about getting revenge for her stolen dessert. _Geez, he's in some mood,_ she thought to herself silently.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" Etna could see the King's face – he didn't look particularly dignified at the moment. Right now, he just looked like a tired man trying to have a polite conversation with his son, and failing. "You've made that scarf a part of your body already – it's not like you've forgotten who it came from."

"It doesn't _matter_," Laharl snarled, the scarf swishing around his back. "So what if I forgot? It's been centuries since I got this thing. Who cares where it came from?"

"_I_ do – it's the only thing you have from your mother." The girl outside the door held in her gasp. _Really? The prince never said that._ "It couldn't be…that you truly forgot? It's only been…" The man seemed desperate now, and the tone of his voice made the demon girl's heart skip a beat. She'd never heard the king so depressed. "A few centuries…"

His son looked even more frustrated. "Exactly! How am I supposed to remember something from back then? I was less than a hundred years old! Stop forcing your values down my throat. If I say I don't remember, I don't remember!" The girl hurriedly flew to the corridor, and smiled nervously when the prince got close to her. "Etna, we're leaving! Call a team of prinnies and tell them to make us something we can take with us!"

"Whatever you say, prince," she struggled to put on her usual joking tone while the shorter demon stalked out of her sight. When he was gone, she let out a sigh, and flapped her wings. "Prinnies! Get your asses in gear!"

When the king was alone in the secluded room, he pulled a small portrait of his wife out of his breast pocket and sighed. It hadn't been fair of him to assume that Laharl remembered the woman – she _had_ died when the boy was only twenty-something. Even he couldn't remember the exact year, date, or time it had happened any more. He missed her dearly, though, and he couldn't imagine marrying again. Krichevskoy could only be grateful that Etna had become somewhat close to his child. Beyond that, he was glad that there were so many people around the castle to help him take care of Laharl. He had been told that he spent so much time trying to get the boy to be kind and loving and helpful that his child took his teachings in the opposite way that he meant them, so they used reverse psychology to keep the boy on track. His expectations were too heavy for the boy to carry, so he was finding ways to slip out of his father's reach.

"I'm sorry," He whispered to the portrait. "I'll make up for my mistakes, I promise."

In another part of the Netherworld, Laharl had beaten a greater demon for the first time, even if it had taken him an hour. Etna, who was watching nearby, applauded him, feeling a little nervous after what she had seen that afternoon. Once the prince had eaten, she figured it would be fine to ask him a particular question, so long as she was careful.

"Say, prince," She started, keeping her tone nonchalant. "Do you remember your mother?" It wasn't _exactly_ what she wanted to know, but she figured she could report her findings to the king later. Well, so long as the prince didn't decide to throw her out for gross insubordination for even _daring_ to bring up such a topic. She didn't think the boy would, though – he had started to openly ask for her opinion in the past few years, and he respected her, to some degree. It couldn't be said for many at the castle, so she thought it was something to be proud of.

His blood-red eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "She was a human, and she was always going on about…about…" His expression soured, and he shook his head. "I don't know, something worthless. She died hundreds of years ago, and my old man's still so _stupid_ over her that it's practically an illness."

"I saw her in person a few times, when she came to the outskirts of town." Etna offered, trying to wheedle more information out the kid before he clammed up. "She seemed kinda weird."

Laharl snorted. "What an understatement." He stared off into the distance for a moment, before the stitch in his side from his fight began acting up. "We're going back."

"Okay," She agreed quietly. Feeling like the prince had just laid his heart bare, she decided that she wouldn't tell the king about this after all. _It just means the prince will owe me a favor on top of that extra pudding one day._ In her heart, she knew that the kid was starting to grow on her, though.

/

_twelve hundred and two_

Krichevskoy saw his son and despaired. He saw a boy closed off to the world, with only one almost-friend. He saw a child who had killed hundreds of demons. Laharl was strong – practically as strong as the king was, but he was overbearing to those that would be his subjects one day. His overconfidence was a flaw that could get him killed, and he didn't trust anyone.

His father began to hatch a plan with another beleaguered man. It would take more than a century before their plan would come to fruition, but Krichevskoy believed that he could pry the dark part of his son's heart open with the angel's help. The guilt of what they were going to do kept him awake at night, and gave him nightmares when he slept, but he promised himself that this would make everything okay again.

When he'd returned from the closed gate of Celestia one evening, he received news of a threat that would occupy the time that wasn't spent preparing for the events years in the future. He knew that he would have to fight Baal soon, but for the time being, he wanted to help his son.

"_I hate you."_ Laharl had said that to him quite easily for centuries. In the last few years, Laharl was truly starting to _believe_ that, and that scared his father more than anything else.

/

_thirteen hundred and eleven_

Baal was becoming unruly, and the king knew he'd have to face him soon. There was little stress over that, though – he knew that he'd at least be able to seal the tyrant, to keep him from getting out for a few centuries. He was more concerned with his and the Seraph's plans, which would be starting up as soon as he got back from dealing with the elder noble demon.

Laharl spent the afternoon with his father, albeit begrudgingly, and the king couldn't have been happier. The youth left with Etna as soon as he got bored. When he returned to the castle late that evening, the boy declared that he would be napping for the next week and a half, and was therefore not to be disturbed. His father told him to sleep well. Etna told the prince that she'd be back from a vacation before he woke up. The boy went to sleep in his coffin without any sort of pressure weighing on his mind, and with no idea that everything would be different when he woke again.

Krichevskoy had underestimated Tyrant Baal. Etna had gotten careless when she'd run into a castle hand out on her vacation. Laharl had slept through it all, and fell into a poison-induced coma for the next two years.

A strangely colored prinny had cried when it heard about each bit of information from the whispering castle servants. They spoke of the terrible anarchy that would befall the Netherworld as soon as demons caught wind of Krichevskoy's death. His heir was dead, or so they thought, so that ruled out the possibility of the throne being claimed legitimately. Many demons that had worked for the king were now plotting to take over in his absence, and they were bloodthirsty, cruel beings that had no problem destroying everything Krichevskoy had strived for during his long life.

So, the prinny cried. It cried because nobody else would. It cried because there would never be enough money in the world to absolve these crimes. It cried because it had never felt so horribly alone in this chaotic world.


	2. cor aut mors

A/N: Flonne/Laharl/Etna in this chapter. Mention of stuff from Disgaea 2 in this part. No D2.

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_**Instability**_

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ii: cor aut mors

_heart or death / the choice between [morals, duty, loyalty] and [insignificance, disrespect, excommunication]_

* * *

_in medio_

The Seraph intervened to stop the passing of his soul. More than that, he pulled a few strings to make sure that his confidant could remain among the living. When he came face to face with the demon, he sported a weary smile. "Welcome back," He whispered to the other man.

Krichevskoy gasped and shakily smiled back. "I'm forever in your debt."

Both of them discussed what they would do from there on out. The angel wondered if the demon would step back into the messy Netherworld and reorganize the chaos his 'death' had brought. The ex-Overlord shook his head – the chaos would only aid their plans. Instead, he would go out, present himself as the son of a long-lost noble family, and work very hard to distinguish himself as this different entity. On a separate note, now he had a way to speak to his son without putting on airs – the youth wouldn't even recognize the man when they met.

"Do you think you'll be ready on your end soon?" Krichevskoy asked the angel breathlessly. His trip to the afterlife and back had not been particularly kind on this fresh body.

"Yes," Lamington replied with a smile. "I believe that she'll be ready soon."

The next few weeks passed quickly, and they hardly had time to meet. Krichevskoy fashioned a ridiculous name and title for himself first. After that, he decided he would have fun around the Netherworld for a little while, trusting Etna to keep the promise she had made to him months before he'd gone to fight Baal. Laharl was a big boy now, and probably stronger than he was in this body. Even if worry was internally tearing him apart, he couldn't do anything to stop time from marching forward, and the plan from coming into action. The humans were getting restless. The angels had a disastrous foe within their own ranks. The Netherworld was falling apart with the absence of a king.

He and the Seraph, the orchestrators of a hefty bet, were in charge of organizing the chaos of the three worlds, and molding the tension for the better. Using the prince of the Netherworld and a sweet angel trainee from Celestia, Lamington and the newly christened 'Vyers' were going to do their best to connect inhabitants from the two worlds.

Vyers only snuck to the castle one time, months after his reincarnation, to see his son's face. He lifted the lid of the coffin and breathed a sigh of relief. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he returned the lid to its' proper place before flying back out of the nearest window in the castle.

Seeing Laharl gave him a fresh enthusiasm for his plan, and he didn't look back.

/

_thirteen hundred and thirteen – i_

When he saw Etna there, surrounded by tools designed for killing others, he immediately assumed the worst. After all, it wasn't outside of her nature to threaten him with such things. Once she'd started to tell him about his bizarre situation, he wished that had only been the case.

Two years.

He'd been asleep for _two years_.

Worse yet, his father had died in some stupid way before he had the chance to kill him and take his title. There were hundreds of demons that were starving for the throne, and now that he was awake, he had to get them out of the way. Anger swirled in his chest, the way it always had, and killing those demons didn't even allow him the sense of satisfaction it usually did. He _deserved_ the throne. _He_ was the rightful heir to it, and beyond that, _he_ was the strongest demon in the Netherworld now that the idiot was dead. Had they forgotten?

Of course they had; he was assumed dead.

Laharl burned a lesser demon scurrying behind Etna to a crisp and his scarf curled behind him. He barked instructions at her without a drop of emotion, and she straightened her back, reasonably nervous. She was the one who had poisoned him, after all, and now she was planning on using him to break free from her brief imprisonment. It wasn't that she'd completely forgotten all those years of bickering with the kid, taking care of him and sticking around the castle – her recollection of events was hazy because there were gaps in her memory. Some of her long-term memory was entirely gone, and she needed the prince's 'help' to that back from her 'keeper'. Still, when the boy was in this kind of mood, she wondered if the memories were truly worth the trouble.

The two of them were only alone for a while, though, and neither of them were ready for the arrival of that ditzy angel. They weren't ready for the way she would ease the hostility between the pair. They weren't ready for the war of the Netherworld, or anything else, and what marked all of the forthcoming change in their lives had a name.

Flonne.

/

_thirteen hundred and thirteen_ – _ii_

Among other things, he thought she was unbelievably, assuredly, _completely_ annoying. She was always talking about things that made him want to rip his hair out, and her obsession with love with was nauseating. Every time she berated him, it felt familiar somehow, and the anger deep in his gut swirled more and more every time she opened her stupid mouth.

Over time, her rants about superheroes, love, and happiness got easier to tune out when she patched him up and smiled. She didn't believe him to be heartless, and somehow, having someone new to bicker with felt good. Etna and Flonne were always giggling about something or another behind his back, and even if he thought their words were trivial, it was okay. Etna happily shared her demonic exploits of the past two years with the blonde girl, who oohed and awed and cried over parts most demons would be dismissive of. Laharl bragged and laughed in front of the angel, and scowled at the girls' incessant teasing. Traveling together got easier and easier with time, and the boy was, even if he would _never_ admit it, starting to _listen_ to the blonde angel and his redheaded second-in-command.

He began to _trust_ Etna, ironically enough, after she'd used him as a hostage. The weak humans with their messy ties grew on him, and although he bossed all of them around like a tyrant, laughing and smirking, he was gradually opening up to others.

Flonne giggled to herself when she imagined him muttering to himself about the others. _Etna's just another servant; don't call us something gross like 'childhood friends'! Those heroes were too weak to stand in my way. You're so infuriating that I have to make you my vassal so I can kill you in your sleep!_

He was still so scared of losing these flimsy connections that he shied away from contact. She would brush against his shoulder or reach out and touch his antennae, and he'd leap ten feet away from her, bristling. Furthermore, he couldn't even get their proper names out of his mouth. Etna had been lucky enough meet the prince at a time he was the most emotionally vulnerable (or, in her opinion, volatile). The redhead told the rest of the group that Laharl had been the worst when he was about a seven hundred or so, so back then, he'd used her name like a bad word, but it was her name nonetheless.

The angel smiled and gasped during the story, then rushed to the boy's side to ask him if he was as bad as Etna had said he was. He let out his proud, haughty laugh and folded his arms across his bare chest. "No, I was worse! Ha ha ha ha!" Flonne puffed her cheeks out and pounded her fists against his shoulders, but he hardly flinched. On top of that, when Etna came from behind the prince and laid her chin on his head, he didn't immediately push her away either.

Both of the girls thought it a bit strange, and shared giggles later that night about the incident. He was starting to accept the both of them in his personal space.

/

_thirteen hundred and thirteen – iii_

He remembered when they'd watched his mother pass on with a strange feeling in his chest. Weeks after it had happened, he still felt strange. This…whatever it was…was a waste of both time and energy. He decided to go get a snack to clear his mind after he got tired of looking at the red moon in the distance.

When he padded down to the kitchen from his room, he found Etna lounging on a couch in the dining hall, and Flonne sleepily watching something on the television. Laharl said nothing to them as he grabbed several things out of the fridge. He started eating at a table a few feet away from them, and the blonde starting murmuring something to him. "Your mother seemed like a kind and loving woman."

"She was sorta weird, but not all bad," Etna commented after an awkward pause fell in the room. "The king thought the world of her."

Flonne looked at the other girl before turning to Laharl again. "Do you remember her at all?"

Blood-red eyes turned to her with a mix of emotions written in them. "No," the boy answered quietly. He ate his food slowly, which was rare for him.

The angel-trainee's blue eyes filled with moisture. The redhead looked between them and felt strangely courageous, so she joined the conversation with a question she'd always wanted to ask the prince. "Did she give you that scarf?"

He seemed moderately annoyed, but no more than usual. "I don't know. I just said that I don't remember her, didn't I?" The way he posed the rhetorical question told them not to ask any more questions about his mother. Still, they both noticed that he turned towards the windows when the moon was full these days, watching the red orb in the sky with emotions circling in his irises.

/

_thirteen hundred and thirteen – iv_

If all of the anger he'd ever felt in his life could be confined to a large number, and then raised to the twentieth power, it still wouldn't have been a grand enough measurement for the amount of rage that poured out of his body in that moment.

He'd gone through the first stage of grief in a flash. The denial clawed at his chest and closed his throat. Her pendant burned on his chest like a fresh coal. Etna, next to him, looked like her eyes were glossy. The heroes could not offer the demons any sort of comfort because they had departed before the three had gone to confront the Seraph. His whole body was crying out in pain, and he couldn't see anything in front of him. The world blurred together before he screamed, and his compounded rage burned him from the inside out.

_Shit, shit – damn you, you shitty angel, who gave you the right?!_ His claws were tearing Lamington apart, and the angel was hardly resisting. Blood stained the fangs and fists of the boy, and his scarf had become a set of fiery wings. His body felt uncontrollable, and his mind was a mess. "What the hell's the matter with you?!" Laharl jabbed his sword into the angel's chest three times, and then punched the older man squarely in the jaw. "She didn't do anything wrong!" Flames ate at the angel's robes. "Hurting other angels? Hurting a human? She barely even touched them! Excuses! She trusted you!"

"Prince," Etna whispered, unable to do anything else. She wished she could do something – _anything_. Her head and throat hurt terribly, and her eyes were moist. She didn't know how to stop him without ending up dead herself.

"She trusted you and you _killed her!_" His growls were guttural and accentuated by wounds to Lamington's person. When he finally found himself needing to breathe, the sight of his carnage continued to hurt his chest. After he stood, covered in blood, he glanced back at that flower, and found that his face was damp with something completely foreign to him.

_Tears._

He couldn't see her flower through them. Tossing his sword aside, he spat on the angel. Deep in his mind, his subconscious knew that he'd been wasting his time.

_It hurts._ Laharl thought, and the tears wouldn't stop. _It hurts, you damn love-crazy angel._ He'd lost his mother twice, his father was gone, and now the world had taken away someone that had shown him love and happiness so sincerely that he couldn't distrust her.

When Vyers began to explain everything, the two young demons didn't have enough mental or emotional capacity to dismiss his hopeful words. Their eyes turned to witness the familiar face reintegrate from nothing, albeit with a few noticeably different features. She was as surprised as they were to see them again, but more importantly, that he was crying. It hurt to watch more than she thought, even if he hurried to wipe those tears away. The blonde noticed her final gift to him peeking out of his scarf, a gift from another woman that had similarly sacrificed herself to save him.

The enigmatic demon disappeared before the three of them had time to regain their senses and ask him a thousand questions, which just left Lamington to be dealt with before they went to the Netherworld again. Flonne was the one who healed him and prayed that he would recover to full health. Then, she grabbed the hands of the two that had become so dear to her heart and declared that she was ready to go back to the castle. She wanted to return to Celestia one day – it _was_ her home – but right now, she desperately wanted to share this abundance of love with every demon in hell.

Even if Laharl had let her hand go as if burned after a minute or so, or if Etna teased her by threatening to 'ruin' the fallen angel's body, she was thrilled beyond belief. They'd both felt deep happiness in being with her, and sadness in her loss – both signs of love. Beyond that, Laharl – _the _shy one, the bratty one, the _angry_, tyrannical, loud, boyish, and arrogant _Overlord_ – had done the one thing she thought he would never, ever do.

He had said her name.

/

_thirteen hundred and fourteen – i_

The blonde found him first, snoring on a desk that was dusty from neglect. When she pointed this fact out to the redheaded demon, she had seemed shocked.

"I don't know what's more surprising," Etna mused quietly. "The fact that he was actually doing _work_ for once, or the fact that he went to his father's _office_ to do it."

"His father's?" Flonne gaped openly. "Really?"

"The one and only," She pulled at one of her pigtails absently. "The King spent most of his time in here. He was always trying to plan something or another. He was a really kind man. Kind of a strange demon, though."

"I see," The blonde nodded her head. "He really respected his father, hm?"

"No, no," Etna assured her with a confident voice, expression stern. "They _never_ got along."

Flonne seemed confused, and her lips twisted. "What? Then why…?"

The other demon shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Something tells me the prince wouldn't have fallen asleep in here for no reason at all. I've got a bad feeling about this."

By the time morning rolled around, the redheaded demon would be proved correct. The prince had gone into that room to find something, and had stumbled across a piece of information that would keep the three of them busy for the next few months.

He had found a particular demon that he wanted to fight.

"Tyrant _Baal_," Etna breathed when he smirked at she and the fallen angel at breakfast. "You're kidding me. The strongest Overlord in the universe? Are you an idiot?"

"Please," Laharl rolled his eyes, which were almost disgustingly shiny with excitement. "I'm _more_ than strong enough to fight him and _win_. Or don't you think so?"

Etna's lips twitched into a smile before she pulled him into a headlock. "_Hell_ no! We all get it – you're plenty strong, Prince. There's no need to fight _Baal_ to prove it!"

"Etna's right!" Flonne puffed up, grabbing his thin wrists and wrapping her warm hands around his gold bangles. "His name sounds _super_ scary, and even _I've_ heard rumors about him in Celestia!"

He got flustered and slipped out of their grasps with the faintest dusting of red crossing his face. "Would the both of you shut up and listen to me? I think, somehow, there was a false report about my father's death." Laharl pulled an article out of a pocket in his shorts. "Some prinny tipped me off about it when they were cleaning up, so I went in there to go check out the old man's stuff. It was so boring that I fell asleep." The girls both sighed and pressed their palms to their faces as a form of reaction, but encouraged him to get on with his story. "_Anyways_," He harrumphed. "Check this out. There's a chance my old man could've died fighting that guy. If Baal's quiet, that means he's sealed right now. If my old man could seal him, _I_ can definitely kill him."

Flonne pulled his arm close to her again, and wrapped both of her hands around his hand, ignoring his stammers. "But what if…" Her red eyes were watery, and he was forced to turn away from her. "Something happened to you?"

"I'm sure as hell not going with you to find him," His other companion noted calmly. She seemed nervous, too. "You feelin' suicidal, Prince?"

"You've _got _to be kidding. Me?" Laharl snorted, quickly shooing both of them out of his airspace. For some reason, in the moment, he seemed just a _little_ more mature to the girls. "Of course not. Now, do you trust me?"

They shared worried expressions and blatantly told him that they didn't, thus inciting a tantrum. He stormed off, swearing that he would return in one piece, and they only watched for a minute or two before starting to move.

"So, you're following the prince to his doom, Flonne?" Etna mused, keeping a careful eye on the boy stomping his feet in front of them.

"Well," The blonde's eyebrows were furrowed, remembering that he had followed her to Celestia and risked his life to save her. "We can't just let him go by himself, can we?"

He turned around and told them to hurry it up, his eerily fantastic hearing alerting him to their presence. The redhead smiled a bit with the fallen angel.

"Yeah," Etna and Flonne quickened their pace, and caught up to him.

/

_thirteen hundred and fourteen – ii_

The three of them had made it back _alive_. They were breathless and exhausted and injured beyond belief, but they had defeated Baal.

"Aren't you happy, Prince?" Etna teased. "You got to avenge your father."

He took too long to come up with a snippy response, so the girls both saw through his façade. "Don't say disgusting things. Praise me for being the strongest Overlord in the universe."

The blonde giggled, grabbing both of their hands and falling straight down onto the floor. Blue antennae shot straight up and he tried to wiggle away, but he was floored by both of their grips on his bony hands and his overwhelming exhaustion. None of them could fight gravity right now. "You look so happy," Flonne mused to him, her free hand playing with the boy's hair. Even Etna had to smile while turning one of the bangles he wore around, feeling giddy.

"I told you that I could do it," He smirked. Neither of them saw fit to remind them that he was clutching their hands tightly, as if reminding himself _why_ he had fought so hard to stay alive. "You two just didn't believe me."

"We kept your sorry ass alive," Etna flicked his nose with her free hand. He gnashed his teeth back at her, but failed to bite her fingers in retaliation. "I deserve a pay raise."

"Ooh, I know – you have to play heroes with me as a form of gratitude!" Flonne perked up. "Doesn't that sound fun? Oh, but you have to be the villain, though."

"That suits me just fine!" The young demon assured her. "And you have to steal your own things! Nothing's coming out of _my_ allowance."

"Stingy," His vassal blearily responded, already beginning to fall asleep. The fallen angel wasn't doing much better, as she let out a yawn.

The three of them didn't speak of the floor-sleeping incident again, but it had brought a storm of something foreign to the blue-haired boy's gut. He didn't dare look further at himself to discover what it could mean.

/

_thirteen hundred and sixteen – i_

It was business as usual in the castle. Laharl beat the council into submission if they were thinking of changing the laws in some way that didn't suit his desires. Etna was still scaring prinnies within inches of their unfortunately lengthy lives and exploiting their labor. Flonne was trying to get demons to understand love and kindness, and failing. The three of them had gotten closer since the events of three years ago, but things were strange between the redhead and the boy lately.

Laharl had been suspiciously on edge around her, and Etna was using her so-called sex appeal on the boy for no good reason, but at the end of the day, their games ended good-naturedly. Flonne could feel a disaster brewing on the surface, and encouraged both of them to talk things out before they blew up, but they both ignored her warnings. Several weeks after her continued suggestions, the inevitable had happened, and she paused her hero show to find out where the source of a loud shout had come from. The fallen angel grimaced when she hurried in on the shouting match.

"Yeah, so what if I stole your pudding? Go steal another one! I know you took three from my stash last week!" The young demon was yelling, his blue antennae standing straight up. "Besides, what's your deal? This is the millionth time we've stolen this worthless stuff from each other!"

"It's not _about_ the pudding, Prince!" Etna losing her temper was rare, and Flonne panicked. Laharl yelling was the norm, but _her_? _Oh no. This is really bad, _the blonde thought. "Could you stop treating me like a moron? Stop bossing me around like one of the prinnies! I have _a hundred_ things I could be doing instead of babysitting your lousy ass!"

He gaped and bristled. "_Babysitting_?! _Lousy_? Where do you get off, talking to your overlord like that?!"

"I _am_ a hundred and sixty years older than you!" The redhead was matching the Netherworld's new ruler in volume, and the fallen angel was desperately trying to stop them in gentle tones, but they couldn't hear her.

"Try a hundred and _fifty-seven_!" The boy snarled, readying his fist to hit her and stopping short.

She snorted derisively and wore a smile that did not reach her darkened eyes. "What, afraid? You think I'm _so much_ weaker than you that I can't stand a punch?"

"So you _want_ me to punch you, then?" He flared up, scarf raising and curling at the tempo of his hastened breath.

"_No_!" Flonne interrupted breathlessly, throwing her arms out between the two of them. "Stop this, both of you. It isn't right for childhood friends to fight!"

"Friends?" The Prince spat. "With who? This would-be assassin?"

Etna smirked back. "I take that as a compliment." Flonne puffed out her cheeks and continued to stand between them.

"Can't you both just get along?" She was practically begging, but Laharl had already left, and Etna was starting to walk away. Being ignored hurt, even if she knew they were just being dishonest because it was easier than facing their feelings. When she and Laharl found out from a lesser demon around the castle that Etna had snuck out in the middle of the night, they were both frozen in shock.

Laharl looked furious. When he wasn't smirking or laughing (30-90% of his daily routine), he was scowling, sure, but his expression was so intense that Flonne didn't really know what to think. "Somebody get me prinny to track her down."

"There aren't any, Prince," A quiet warrior told him. "She took all of the castle prinnies with her."

He balled his fists, drawing in a deep breath before shouting at no one in particular. "Damn you, Etna! I'll find you _myself_, and I'll make you pay for leaving without my permission!"

_Ah,_ the fallen angel thought, a smile full of strange emotions on her lips. _He's got a crush on her._

/

_thirteen hundred and sixteen – ii_

Rozalin and her little boy toy were a great source of teasing and entertainment for the redhead. Veldime suited her just fine. She was powerful enough to be an Overlord there, a fact she relished with great pride. _All that's left is to defeat Zenon_, Etna thought to herself. _Once I beat him and steal his title, I'll go back. Then I'll treat that brat to the ass-kicking of the century!_ She giggled to herself about her plans. Once she'd screwed up her levels with her prank, she found herself spending more and more time with those guys, but something wasn't right. Even if she giggled and played nice, they were all so…happy. Adell and Rozalin had each other, and Adell's ragtag family of human-demons. Their flirting was cute and funny, if not a little annoying, but all of them treated her a hundred times better than the boy-king of her universe.

She hated herself for wondering how he was doing. Somehow, she rationalized things by telling herself that she hoped _Flonne_ was doing well, and not _him_. He could rot in that castle, lost without anyone to wipe his ass for him and willingly subject themselves to his verbal abuse, day in and day out.

In a dark part of her mind, she thought about strange things. _They're probably getting along happily without me. Maybe the Prince'll make a move on her while I'm gone_. Her subconscious had a sense of humor, at least.

When he found her, they were as snippy and nonchalant to each other as always, even if he was 'ordering' her to come back, and she was moaning about his faults. Still, she'd known him a long time, and when he was caught off-guard by whatever that was Rozalin was holding inside of her, she'd held her breath in nervous anticipation. He shirked back to their world relatively unharmed, which told her that he wasn't angry enough or energetic enough to pick a fight nearly to the death. She'd sighed in relief after he'd disappeared. While she traveled with Adell and his bunch, she couldn't help turning her thoughts back to the Prince.

_He looked for me personally_, she giggled to herself from far behind them.

/

_fourteen hundred and sixty – i_

Flonne had grown accustomed to observing the Prince, watching him balance his childish selfishness and rare bursts of maturity with a careful expression. She knew now that demons could feel love, of course, but she wondered how he truly felt about Etna. Back when they were fighting, over a hundred years ago, she had been so _sure_ that there was something between them. It would have explained why he had acted so strange towards her, but they had gone back to normal when the redhead had come back. Sometimes, when she was watching him from afar, she felt horribly guilty for a particular thought.

_But I'll have to go back one day._ She used to think about Celestia with the happiest expression, longing for the day she could become an angel again, but she remembered that she wouldn't be able to be in the Netherworld all of the time. She wouldn't be able to see those rare, genuine smiles from the two demons that were her constant companions. When she spoke to Etna about her feelings one evening, the other girl was deadpan.

"Aren't _you_ the one who's always going on and on about love? Doesn't that just mean you ended up liking us more than you thought?" The redhead used her tail to poke the fallen angel, smirking. "What's this? Your crush on the Prince finally hitting you like a ton of bricks?"

Flonne turned red almost immediately. "There is no such thing! Sure, he's cute, but he's…he's…" Her mind supplied an image of the Prince lounging on his throne, laughing that villainous laugh. "_Him_."

"Who're you telling, sister?" The younger demon snorted. "But sometimes, y'know…" She thought about his shy reactions, how he would sometimes blatantly refuse to do anything or go anywhere unless the two of them went with him, and she smiled happily. "He's not so bad."

Flonne remembered that he'd wrapped his scarf around her once while they were watching shows, and the tips of her pointed ears colored. "Yeah."

Etna laughed, leaning on the fallen angel's shoulder. Her ears had turned red too, remembering similar occurrences between herself and the boy-king. "We're kinda hopeless."

Her friend sighed warmly before giggling. "Yeah."

/

_sixteen hundred and ninety-three_

Vyers had been complacent, quietly enjoying retirement for the past two and a half centuries. He ran into the unruly trio that occupied the castle every once in a while, but for the most part, those three tried their best not to run into him. It came as a pleasant surprise when his son (not that the youth knew that, or if he did, he never said so) ran into his flashy mansion looking worn out. "Hey, Mid-Boss," His blue hair was frazzled, and the young demon male had gotten taller since he'd last seen him. "Hide me for a while. Don't ask questions."

He was about go on a rant about beauty with all of his usual dramatic flare, but Laharl had sensed that, and glared at him with enough fury to quiet a storm, so he shut up. When his gatekeeper told him that there were two women outside, the boy made himself invisible awfully quickly, and Vyers caught on. _Ah_.

When he went to answer his guests, he made sure to be extra annoying, feeling like he could hide his son, just this once, instead of forcing the boy to face the two objects of his affections. The two of them looked angry and tired just listening to him, so they didn't stay long. He overheard the red-haired one speaking to the blonde one on her way out. "I knew it was a long shot. Let's go see if he's raiding another moron's castle." After they were out of sight, he spoke to the 'empty' room.

"The coast is clear." Laharl swept out of the closet he'd gone into, face clammy and brow furrowed, and the man stuck out his arm theatrically. "So, what have you come to the Dark Adonis for, hm? Advice about _love_? Ha, ha, my boy, you've come to the right place!"

As a form of late greeting, a fist knocked the wind out of the older demon. "I said not to ask questions."

The nobleman with long hair pretended to cry and was a little hurt when the adolescent turned away from him without cracking a joke about that. _He's at a difficult age,_ the man thought. With a start, he corrected himself mentally. _He's __**always**__ at a difficult age._ "Want something to eat?"

Blood-red eyes flicked to him expectantly. "Yes." The boy's head was level with his chest now…how strange. Nostalgia almost knocked the man over as he hurried to the kitchen. It had been getting easier to remove himself from the boy's life in the past two centuries, but he still missed him dearly. Besides, when Laharl was a child, still bitter over the loss of his mother, they never would have been able to do something as simple as have lunch together while he ran away from his girlfriends. The youth impatiently barked out orders for what he wanted, and he offered no words of thanks when the food arrived, but he ate without complaining. Vyers figured, for him, that was thanks enough. The boy was picky, after all.

When they were almost finished with the food, the noble spoke again. "So," He toyed with his fork, pointing it at the boy with a sly expression. "What did you do this time?"

A dark eyebrow twitched, and he stuffed his mouth again. "What the hell makes you think _I_ did something?"

"I daresay those maidens were rather…upset," Vyers mused happily, noting that the boy grumbled and stuck his nose further in his plate instead of answering, thus proving his point. "It'd probably be easier for you if you just apologized, even if you don't mean it."

Laharl snorted. "You're an idiot," He spat a bone in the older demon's face, smirking as the man held in his anger.

"So," Mid-Boss threw a fork at the boy, who used his scarf to deflect it back to the man. He didn't dodge it in time, and winced in pain before continuing. "Why are you here, then?"

"It's my Netherworld," The young man replied haughtily. "I can do anything to my subjects that I please, including impose on them."

"So, you ran away from home," Vyers offered, and promptly got himself burned. _Just like the good old days,_ he thought with a scowl. "My! No need to get short with me because of your sexual frustration."

The boy was positively speechless, and he ground out his words one by one. "I. Have. No. Such. Thing!" His faint blush said otherwise. "Those two are just – they're my vassals, and nothing more!"

His disguised father had to stop himself from bursting out laughing, feeling incredibly awkward, but carrying on anyways. "Did you have a reaction?"

"I'm leaving!" Laharl screeched at an octave three levels above his typical vocal range.

Just before the youth made it out of earshot, the man spoke again. "You'd better get used to that! You'll never be able to satisfy girls if you don't accept your body's natural reactions!"

"When I clean this rotten Netherworld up again, I swear your head is the first I'm going to take!" The youth promised him, face red with embarrassment.

Vyers chuckled to himself when the boy was gone. _He's growing up._

/

_eighteen hundred and one_

He knew he was becoming strange, even if he spat that nothing had changed. Centuries ago, he never would have let _anyone_ touch him, but he had allowed them to. His hair was absolutely _not_ to be tousled, even affectionately – he _hated_ the patronizing feeling that came with taller people doing that. Now, he _openly_ let the two taller women do so with minor complaints. After that, he started allowing the handholding. He let them drape themselves on him from time to time. All of those leaps had taken place relatively close together, from his thirteen and fourteen hundreds, but for the four centuries following, he had downright _run_ from going any further.

And now, suddenly, his blood boiled. He felt disgusting for the practically _violent_ urges that had filled his head for the past hundred and twenty years or so. The young man desperately wanted to sink his fangs into the redhead's tan skin. He wanted to dig his claws into the blonde's arms and she if she _bled_ love, or rather her blood was as thick and viscous as his own. The two of them certainly hadn't been helping those urges, either. They were always trying to press their lips to his skin. One of them was tender and light, always a little tentative, and soft. The other was harsh and crude and rough, and he wanted both of them.

_Shit_, he thought to himself, biting his claws.

/

_eighteen hundred and two_

"But he _likes_ it when you play with those stupid tiny wings," the redhead said, encouraging the blonde. "Or his tail."

"Ah, but he likes it more when you kiss him and bite, or if you pull his hair. I think he's kind of a masochist," The fallen angel – sort of – was being awfully lewd, for someone who had just returned from a trip to Celestia.

"Tell you what. How about we switch? Betcha he'll be so flustered, he might actually shut up." Etna offered.

Flonne flushed and pumped her fist. "Deal."

/

_a priori – ii_

"What if other demons don't accept and love him because of his human side?" The soon-to-be mother worried, smoothing the folds of her dress over her swollen abdomen.

Her husband quietly smiled, shaking his head. "We don't take that sort of thing into consideration. Every once in a while, demons have children with humans. Even a drop of demon blood makes him a demon, by our standards. Never mind the fact that it's my blood – he'll be considered one of the strongest demons in the Netherworld; a royal." His wine-red eyes searched her hazel irises. "What brought that concern on?"

"Well," she spoke to her pregnant stomach. "I was just wondering if he'd find someone special." Her eyes glistened as she smiled at him. "I don't want our boy to be alone because of something I did."

Krichevskoy wrapped his arms around his wife. "He'll find someone; don't worry yourself to death. Even if demons don't believe that they can love, I know differently. Who knows? Maybe one day, maybe demons, humans, and angels will see eye to eye. He could marry any of them."

The woman giggled. "You sure do like to dream big."

He puffed out his chest. "Life's not worth living unless you give yourself big goals." After he calmed down, he touched her tenderly. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for loving me."

The queen smiled and teased him. "What's not to love?"

/

_eighteen hundred and three_

Every time the blonde left, he felt sort of empty. Etna helped, of course, but it just wasn't the same. Likewise, when he and the redhead fought, and the half-baked angel was around and his other companion was away, he didn't feel right. He would storm the Netherworld, the cosmos, or Celestia to bring them back, and they found themselves back at the winding, messy castle all over again.

Flonne said that he'd finally learned to love deeply, and she was proud. Etna argued that he was just being possessive. Either way, they stuck by him, through thick and thin. They watched him grow into a man, albeit a relatively short one, and beyond that, a competent ruler. He was every bit as selfish, short-tempered, loud, and obnoxious as he had been when he was thirteen hundred and thirteen, but he was more open-minded, and understanding.

When they saw him trying his best, through the grumbles, and the long nights with the council, they smiled. They watched him talk to demons that had complaints year after year, yelling at them, but he almost never refused to help, even if it was under his own false pretenses.

"Are you ever going to tell him that you're in love with him?" Flonne asked, wondering for her own reasons.

"Hmm," Etna thought about it for a moment, and then smirked. "Maybe if he begs me to."

The blonde waved her hand dismissively. "That's never going to happen."

"What about you?" The younger demon returned the question. "You sure it's okay for a fallen angel slash archangel to be shacking it up with the Overlord?"

"Love is justice," Flonne confidently bluffed. "Besides, the Seraph hasn't said anything about it, so it's probably fine!"

Etna burst out laughing. "Right, right. I get it."

"What're the two of you laughing about?" The prince walked in, looking surly, as per usual. "Let's go. Somebody's challenging me for the throne in the Sea of Gehenna."

"Okay," They both answered, each of them grabbing one of his hands. He barked and bickered with them before turning his scarf into a cape and flying off with them. They flapped their wings restlessly, and the formidable trio teased each other the whole way to the 'duel'.

It was another normal day in the Netherworld.


End file.
